


Fallen on Deaf Ears

by Arwriter



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arthur Dutch friendship, Arthur Whump, Could be ArthurxDutch, Deaf Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explosions, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, O'driscolls suck, hearing loss, hurt Arthur, temporary disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:25:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple house robbery. Some wealthy travelers staying in an unguarded cabin in the middle of nowhere, their money practically begging to be stolen. But, as the universe continues to remind him, things for them are never simple. Especially not for Arthur, and especially not when O'driscolls get involved.





	Fallen on Deaf Ears

Arthur should have learned by now that nothing was ever going to go the way they planned. 

No matter how well things had been going, no matter how much he arguably  _ deserved  _ a simple day, if the world had an opportunity to screw him over it was going to take it. One of these days his dumb luck was going to run out completely and he wouldn’t walk away. 

In the meantime, he was always begrudgingly happy to go along with whatever plans Dutch or the others came up with. They needed money, and they weren’t going to get it playing safe. 

Lenny had dug around Valentine, riding back into camp wide-eyed and excited about some family staying in some cabin somewhere up in the woods. The cabin was quaint and small, but the family was wealthy. They would have jewels and a bit of gold on them, tucked in the woods just waiting to be robbed. 

The job had excited Dutch, who insisted it had been too long since he’d gotten out and elected to join, summoning Arthur as he mounted The Count, Lenny following with barely contained excitement. 

Arthur barely got the gist of what they were doing before they were leaving Horseshoe Overlook, Dutch yelling something to Hosea about being back in the morning. 

“This is exactly what we need!” Dutch announced as they rode through the open valley. Arthur wondered how long it had been since he’d had the chance to leave camp. At Arthur’s questioning glance he elaborated, “ _ Easy  _ money. For things to finally start going our way.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Arthur warned gently. Robbing homesteads did usually promise to be simpler than robbing in public, but no job was ever  _ easy.  _ They still had to scope the place out, find out how many people there were, and find out if the money was even real and not just some story someone drew up in a bar. 

“There should just be two of them,” Lenny explained, riding alongside Arthur. “Older folk. The cabin’s behind some creek in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think they’re expecting company.”

“ _ Thank you,  _ Lenny,” Dutch said with a pointed look at Arthur who knew the other man well enough to know there was no real malice behind his words. He was just excited, the promise of a new future looming above the horizon, the confines of camp getting to Dutch just like everyone else. “Try and be a little more optimistic, _Arthur_.” 

“Sure, Dutch,” Arthur said. “Whatever you say.” 

The rest of the ride was peaceful. Lenny spent the entire time babbling about the history of the family. It only took Arthur about two minutes to decide that he couldn't possibly care any less and tune out the history lesson. But it was nice to see him look so relaxed, Lenny’s tone lighthearted and excited.

“You clearly did your research,” Dutch praised as they steered the horses deeper into the woods. “Wish I could say the same for some of the others.” 

“Hey,” Arthur retorted, recognizing that the jab was aimed at him. “I’m not the one who got us into that Blackwater mess.” 

It touched a nerve. Of course it did, and Arthur wanted to slap himself when the energy dropped, the silence growing heavy. Dutch’s smile faded, eyes growing distant at the painful memory. Arthur scrambled to rebuild what he broke. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just, uh--” 

“I was just trying to help out, Dutch,” Lenny jumped in, wisely changing the subject to clean up Arthur’s mess. “Everybody is. We’re all doing our best.”

Dutch nodded. “I know, boys. Where're we going, Lenny?” 

“Uh, turn up here,” he said. “Follow the creek when you see it, it’ll lead us right to them.” 

Arthur followed behind them, only half-listening to Lenny's instructions. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth in the first place, especially not about something everyone was so desperate to leave behind. He hadn't even been there, and he had no right to criticize whatever decisions were made. He didn’t make the plans, he was just the muscle. And tonight was no different. 

“I think that’s it!” Lenny announced after a few moments, quickly lowering his voice as they drew closer. “Yeah, up there in the trees.” 

The three of them dismounted, ordering their horses to flee as they found a spot behind thick brush where they could observe the house. 

Through the open windows, Arthur could hear voices, and later, caught glimpses of people moving around. There seemed to be only two, older folk like Lenny had said and looking in no way concerned about any company. They clearly weren’t accustomed to this part of the world, leaving their windows and doors open to enjoy the fresh breeze. Arthur almost felt bad for them. 

“We’ll wait here until nightfall,” Dutch decided. “Get in, find their valuables, and get out before anyone knows we were ever here. No need for anyone to get hurt tonight.” 

Arthur nodded, double checking his satchel for his revolver and lockpick. Just in case. Dutch settled back against the tree trunk, Lenny copying him. Arthur, taking one last glance at the peaceful cabin, followed his lead. They had a couple hours to kill, and Lenny looked like he hadn’t gotten a chance to relax in weeks. None of them really had, even when staying back at camp.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Dutch offered, echoing Arthur’s concern. “We’ve got some time. You did good.” 

Lenny looked like he was going to argue, always too eager to prove himself, but he seemed to silently reason with himself and nodded, resting his head against the small tree against his back. 

“Just wake me up before we go in,” he said, eyes already sliding closed. Arthur smiled softly, watching for a moment, before turning his gaze to the overgrown grass. 

“You should close your eyes for a bit, too,” Dutch said. “I know you haven’t been sleeping much lately.”  

“You’re one to talk,” Arthur muttered, hearing Dutch chuckle beside him. “I’m fine, just...a lot on my mind lately.” 

“I don’t blame you.” 

They sat in silence, most of the tension already slipping away. Arthur could have left it alone, keeping the nagging guilt safely in the back of his mind. But he’d never been able to close himself off from Dutch when he had something to say. 

“Blackwater wasn’t your fault, you know.” Dutch didn’t respond, and Arthur quickly continued. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like it was. I didn’t even want to bring it up I...I don’t know. But nobody blames you for what happened.” 

Dutch hummed softly. “It wasn’t Micah’s fault either.”

“That’s debatable.” 

“It  _ wasn’t _ ,” Dutch reiterated. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault and you know it. Something went wrong, something I can’t change, but we’re going to fix it. You and I. We’re going to rebuild our family step by step. We just need money. Money and loyalty. And I know I’ll get that from you.” 

“Of course you will,” Arthur promised. “As long as you get some sleep while you still can. I’ll keep watch.” 

Dutch scoffed. “Keep watch for those folk?” 

“Three men sleeping outside a cabin would look pretty suspicious to anyone. Go on. I’ll wake you when they head to bed.” 

Dutch sighed, defeated easier than Arthur was used to. He closed his eyes, tilted his head skyward, and the forest went silent without another word. 

Arthur didn’t mind keeping watch by himself, in fact, he’d actually looked forward to it. Since Blackwater, he hadn’t gotten much of a chance to be alone. They were always moving, always looking over their shoulders, planning, robbing...it was refreshing to be able to sit in silence for a while.

He couldn’t deny that New Hanover, as much as he didn’t want to be here, was a beautiful state. The towns were lifeless and dull, the people equally so, but the long horse rides often left Arthur breathless. 

The mountains in the distance, huge towers scraping the deep blue sky made Arthur feel small, almost able to once again feel the cold, snowy air wrap around his lungs. The valleys and forests were lush and green, and he hoped the scenery was doing something to put Hosea at ease. He’d been constantly worried out of his mind lately, mostly about Dutch. 

Arthur watched the sky turn gray, only slightly tuning in to the suffocatingly uneventful conversations from the two rich snobs in the house below, marveling instead at the streaks of orange along the clouds as the sun began its course behind the hills. 

When the forest grew dark, it didn’t take long before the house grew silent. The cabin’s residents at least had enough sense to close their windows and lock their door before shutting off the lights. 

“Ready when you are,” Arthur announced, loud enough to jolt both Lenny and Dutch awake. Lenny jumped, reaching instinctively for his weapon, relaxing only when he saw Arthur grinning at him. “I don’t think there’ll be any late night parties.” 

“Alright,” Dutch agreed, already back on his feet. “Looks like it’s safe to head down there. You got your lock pick?” 

Arthur nodded, already digging it out of his satchel as he followed Dutch through the grass, Lenny close at his heels. The cabin was old, Arthur could see that much as they drew closer, and silently breaking through the lock was a simple task. 

“Lenny,” Dutch whispered as Arthur opened the front door, pushing it slowly to keep it from squealing. “Wait out here. Keep an eye out.” 

Lenny nodded, stepping back as Dutch and Arthur slipped inside, treading lightly on the old floor. Arthur could hear distant snoring from the far bedroom and he relaxed slightly. With a noise like that drowning them out, nobody would be waking up easily. 

“You check the kitchen,” Dutch ordered. “Take whatever you can find. I’ll see if I can’t find these jewels.” 

Arthur obeyed and they went their separate ways, their footsteps muffled by the dark brown fur rug strewn across the floor. In the dim lighting, Arthur thought it might be a grizzly bear. He doubted the cabin’s residents had hunted it themselves. 

There was a wad of cash stashed in the back of one of the drawers. Not a lot, but enough to make the trip somewhat worth it if they found nothing else. Scanning the unsurprisingly dull kitchen one last time, Arthur stuffed the cash in his pocket and crept to the next room to help Dutch, freezing when he heard a crash, the sound of a door slamming against a wall. 

“Don’t move!” A new voice shouted, and Arthur’s heart sank. “Drop the bag and get on the ground!” 

Arthur, realizing that from where he was standing no one had seen him yet, quickly pressed himself against the wall. He risked peering around the corner, a newly lit lantern illuminating just enough for him to make out the situation. 

The bedroom door had been flung open, probably taking out a chunk of the wall in the progress. An overweight, gray-haired man in his night clothes, face bright red, holding his shotgun level with Dutch’s head. 

“Alright, alright,” Dutch said, obeying, calm and collected as ever. He did as he was told, throwing his satchel aside and raising his hands. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding, sir.” 

“Looks like you was trying to  _ rob  _ me!”

“No sir, I was doing no such thing,” Dutch argued, lowering himself onto his knees. Arthur wanted to roll his eyes, doubting that anybody, even Dutch, would be able to make this look like anything other than a blatant robbery. “My friend and I, he’s waiting outside, we’re lost. We were just looking for some help, I assure you.” 

The old man's face grew impossibly redder. “Do you think I’m  _ stupid?”  _

Dutch was still talking, his tongue running automatically as he stalled. It didn’t seem to be doing much to defuse the situation, but he was doing a brilliant job at annoying the man into shooting him. 

“Sir, why don’t you put down the gun?” Dutch said, and Arthur reached for his belt. “And we can talk about this civilly.” 

“I ain’t--” 

“He asked you to put down the gun,” Arthur said, stepping into the living room with his own weapon pointed at the man’s head. “I don’t want to hurt you, so why don’t you do as he says?” 

Dutch smirked as the old man, now frozen and trembling, threw his gun aside and dropped to his knees. Arthur kept his weapon aimed as Dutch picked himself off the floor and strode across the fur rug. 

“Now, like my friend said we’re not here to hurt anyone. But we heard you have some jewels on you. I'm sure you're more than willing to share so just tell us where they are and--” 

“I-in-in the ch-chimney!” the old man stammered, pointing frantically at the fireplace and casting wary glances at Arthur. “There’s a pouch up in the chimney. You-y-you, just...please! Please just take it and leave!” 

“You sir,” Dutch said, smiling as he retrieved his satchel from the floor. “Are a very wise man.” 

He turned to the fireplace and crouched beside the pile of logs, reaching his hand up into the dark, musty chimney, frowning as he felt along the brick. Arthur risked a glance, frowning when Dutch said nothing. 

“Find it?” 

Dutch shook his head, brow furrowing. “Not yet.” 

Arthur glanced briefly at the man on his knees, his frown deepening when he looked back to Dutch’s futile search. “You sure you--?” 

There were hands on his wrists, and Arthur barely had time to react before something slammed into his stomach, the sudden weight threatening to knock him over, the gun now aimed to the floor. 

The old man was in his face, fighting like a feral animal. He couldn’t match Arthur's strength, but he was heavy and desperate, and Arthur stumbled backward when he kept pushing. 

The gunshot made Arthur jump, the old man’s mouth opening in a soundless gasp, gaping in pain and confusion as he fell forward, Arthur letting him hit the floor face-first. The bear rug was now stained with blood from the bullet wound in his back. 

“You’re getting slow,” Dutch chided, slipping his gun back in his belt. 

“And you’re getting gullible,” Arthur shot back, turning to the bedroom when a panicked cry echoed through the cabin. Dutch was already starting forward and Arthur had no choice to follow, his gun held ready. 

“Good evening, ma'am” Dutch was greeting before Arthur had even gotten a chance to step inside the room. There was an old woman crouched in the corner by the bed, and she screamed again when she saw Arthur. “We don’t want to hurt you. We just want the jewels.” 

Arthur doubted the woman would believe that, seeing as they’d killed her husband one room over. But he just stood there, silent, hoping she was smarter than her husband. 

“They’re...they’re in the dresser.” She sounded scared, defeated, and Arthur’s chest ached, knowing she'd have to bury her husband. “Top right drawer in a brown bag. Just take them and leave, I swear I won’t tell anyone you were here  _ please. _ ” 

Dutch nodded at Arthur, who lowered his gun and made his way to the dresser. After tossing aside piles of folded clothes, his hand found a leather pouch tucked away just like the woman had promised. Peering inside, Arthur could see the glittering of jewelry, and a part of him relaxed. It was hardly worth making a widow, but at least it hadn’t been for nothing. 

Arthur closed the drawer, just as muffled yelling from outside made its way into the bedroom, followed by the thundering of horses. Arthur met Dutch’s eyes before running to the window, peeling back the curtain.  

Outside the cabin were four men on horseback, armed, loud, and clearly drunk. Arthur was almost positive they were Colm's men, the group having probably heard the same story of jewels. He could see Lenny standing on the porch, stupidly brave with a hand over his gun. 

“He’s gonna get himself killed out there,” Arthur warned. Dutch didn’t even have time to agree before multiple shots rang out, hitting the thick wood walls and shattering the window. 

The woman screamed again, pressing herself further into the wall. Arthur had just enough time to see Lenny drop into cover as he fired at the drunken O’driscolls, thankfully unharmed. For now. 

Before Arthur could even make a move to start shooting there was a pounding from the other side of the house, an incessant banging growing louder by the second. 

“Someone’s coming in through the back,” Dutch said quickly. “I’ll deal with it, you cover Lenny!” 

Arthur nodded, crouching under the open window, firing at anything he could from the odd angle. It was hardly a fair fight, the O’driscolls too drunk and too stupid to shoot straight. There were two gunshots from the living room, Dutch quickly calling out to put Arthur at ease. 

The shootout was over in less than ten minutes, the forest quiet once again. But O’driscolls were known for their numbers, and it was no surprise when Arthur heard more yelling in the distance, gunshots firing into the air. 

“You ok, kid?” Arthur called, smiling when Lenny, wide-eyed and out of breath, gave him a weak thumbs up. 

“There’s more coming,” Dutch said through the broken window, suddenly on the porch and helping Lenny to his feet. “We got what we came for, let’s get out of here.” 

Arthur nodded and stood, stopping when he glanced back at the terrified old woman in the corner. They had no need or desire to hurt her, but the O'driscolls would kill her without a second thought. And they'd enjoy it. 

“You go!” he called. “I’m going to get her somewhere safe, I’ll catch up!” 

Dutch skidded to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, hesitating only for a second before reluctantly turning to flee. 

“Be careful,” he warned. Arthur nodded, not bothering to watch him run after Lenny, already able to hear the warning shots from the approaching gang getting closer and closer.

“Don’t  _ touch  _ me!” the woman practically screeched, kicking frantically as Arthur kneeled beside her. 

“I’m trying to help you--” 

“You killed my husband!” 

“Your husband was an idiot,” Arthur muttered. He ignored her struggling, roughly scooping her off the floor and running to the bedroom door. “You stay here, you're dead. I’ll drop you off in Valentine and you’ll never see me again. I promise.” 

The woman was still screaming, kicking, senselessly beating and punching Arthur’s chest. He doubted she could even hear him. 

Her screeches were probably the reason he hadn’t heard that there was still someone in the house. 

A burly and disheveled man, clearly an O’driscoll, stood in the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, a stick of dynamite and a lit match in his hand.  The fuse was lit and the woman screamed in Arthur’s ear as the man tossed it into the hallway, lunging at Arthur, too drunk to have the sense to run. 

He pretty much threw the old woman towards the front door, not even having enough time to see if she landed on her feet before he was tackled to the ground, a fist flying at his face. 

Arthur’s mind was only on the dynamite, the ticking clock, the man on top of him nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle that was going to get them both killed. He struggled against the weight, managing to slip one hand to his side, grabbing the handle of his pistol. 

He pulled the weapon up, digging the metal into the O’driscolls stomach, and pulled the trigger. The man screamed, his voice dying as he went limp, threatening to crush Arthur completely.  With hands now soaked in blood, Arthur shoved the O'driscoll away, discarding him beside the other body on the ruined bear rug. 

He scrambled to his feet, the hissing of the dynamite the only sound left in the cabin, drowning out the yells from outside. All that mattered was getting away, his eyes glued to the door. 

But there wasn’t enough time. He was too close. Arthur hadn't even started moving towards the door before the hissing stopped and he felt himself get thrown forward, the air suddenly feeling thick and heavy. 

His world collapsed around him, burying Arthur in a veil of darkness before he had time to feel any pain. 

 

********

 

Arthur was moving when he woke up. 

Dirt spilled in between his fingers, his arms limp and outstretched at his sides. Jagged rocks and twigs poked and dug into his back as he was dragged, none too gently, across the forest floor. He couldn’t move his right leg, something tied tightly around his ankle, suspending it into the air. 

He resolved to keep his eyes closed for now, to try and assess the situation without giving away to whoever was with him that he was awake, but he was met with nothing but silence. 

Slowly, he peeled his eyes open and was met with the sight of the night sky. He could see the green treetops overhead passing him by, and his stomach twisted when he realized how fast he was moving. 

Craning his neck, his head pounding unbearably, he could see the horse just a few feet in front of him, and the lasso tied around his ankle attached to the O’driscoll rider. There two other men riding on either side, their shoulders moving like they were talking. 

But Arthur couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t hear the horses, and he couldn’t hear his own quickening breaths. 

Against his better judgment, Arthur coughed, frantically clearing his throat, his chest suddenly feeling tight when he still couldn’t  _ hear.  _

He didn’t know where he was, what was happening, or if Dutch and Lenny had managed to get away. He tried to think reasonably, to calm himself down, to come up with some sort of plan, but everything was drowned out by the fact that he was trapped in a silent void, surrounded by enemies. 

The horse he was tied to suddenly came to a stop and Arthur groaned when the pain in his head flared. At least, he assumed he had groaned based on the way the three O’driscolls suddenly turned to him, sneering. 

They dismounted, and Arthur could see them laughing, taunting and threatening as they came closer. As much as it looked like their words would only increase his panic, Arthur would have given anything to hear them. 

He tried to reach for the rope around his leg, but something hit his face, hard, and Arthur’s head slammed against the ground. He couldn't hear the crack of bone, but he could feel the blood rushing down his nose in a crimson stream, seeping into the corners of his mouth. 

He tried to fight back, dazed and confused, as someone grabbed his arms and brought them above his head, something pressing down painfully on his wrists, keeping him in place. He tried to kick out at one of the men standing over him, but his leg was still held down, someone tugging at the rope until it burned. 

One of the O’driscolls stood over him, saying something Arthur still couldn't hear, the alcohol making him sway. He crouched, close enough for Arthur to smell the whiskey on his breath. He wrinkled his nose when the man leaned in closer, smiling with stained teeth.

A fist buried itself into Arthur’s stomach and the O’driscoll laughed, landing another blow, then another, and another. Arthur arched up, gritting his teeth, uselessly trying to get away, but his drunk captors weren’t moving. 

The O’driscoll pulled out a knife, and Arthur went still as the man waved it over his face, pressing the cold tip against the skin below Arthur’s eye. The man’s lips were moving, the words too fast for Arthur to even try to comprehend.  

Suddenly there was a hand on his face, the O’driscoll gripping his jaw and squeezing until it hurt, forcing Arthur to look him in the eye as he leaned close. He was still talking, slower this time, his eyes brimming with anger. Arthur furrowed his brow, realizing idly that the man was asking him a question. 

The O’driscoll must have seen his confusion, his anger suddenly melting away into glee as if Arthur’s predicament was suddenly the most amusing thing in the world. He said something else, his face splitting into a grin when he realized that Arthur couldn’t understand him. 

The man above him looked up, probably at whoever was pinning down Arthur’s hands. He said something to his friend, laughing, and Arthur was fairly sure he recognized the word ‘ _ deaf _ ’ come from the O’driscoll’s mouth and his stomach dropped. 

The fingers on his jaw tightened and the man was back in his face, smirking. He opened his mouth to speak, to mock Arthur with something he  _ still  _ couldn’t hear, but the silent words never came. 

The O’driscoll suddenly went rigid, the vice-like grip on Arthur finally loosening, and he fell limply to the side, his shirt stained with a fresh bullet wound. A second later the other two men fell to the ground, dead, the silent scene sending chills down Arthur’s spine. 

In a panic, Arthur struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain spreading through his body. He pulled at his leg, the rope still secured tightly and trapped under the corpse of one of the men. 

There was a hand on his shoulder and Arthur jumped, struggling wildly as the hold on his shoulder tightened, trying to push him back. The newcomer moved to crouch in front of him, and Arthur suddenly recognized Dutch, talking frantically, trying to get Arthur to calm down. 

“Dutch,” Arthur said, desperately straining to hear his own voice. But everything was still deathly quiet, like he was being held underwater. “Dutch I-I can’t I  _ can’t- _ ” 

Dutch held up a hand, talking again before Arthur could finish. He turned his back, probably still talking, reassurances going unheard, and Arthur felt tugging at the rope around his ankle. The bond came free and Arthur pulled his legs up to his chest, his breathing still quick and uneven. 

Dutch stood, looking like he was just beginning to relax. His mouth was still moving, and he offered a hand to Arthur, who only shook his head. 

“Dutch, I can’t hear you,” he explained, feeling the panic set in as he said it aloud. Dutch frowned, his face pinching in confusion. “I-I can’t  _ hear.  _ Dutch, I can’t hear anything. Th-there, there was an explosion I-I didn’t, I can’t...Dutch _ ,  _ I--”

Dutch was suddenly rushing forward, finally understanding. He dropped to his knees in front of Arthur, his hands back on his shoulders, squeezing gently. He was talking again, slow, trying to let Arthur read his lips. 

Arthur shook his head again, his hands clenching the fabric of Dutch’s shirt, his body wracked with shivers, his vision becoming increasingly blurry. 

“I don’t know what you’re  _ saying,  _ Dutch,” Arthur repeated. Why didn’t Dutch understand? “I’m sorry, I’m  _ trying  _ but I can’t, I-I don’t--” 

Dutch let go of his shoulders, his hands moving to cradle Arthur’s face, holding him steady. He was still talking, slow and deliberate, but this time Arthur focused on his eyes, finally understanding what he was trying to say. 

_ You’ll be ok.  _

It was ok. Everything would be fine. They’ll figure it out. Arthur was safe now, they’d get him back to camp and they’d help him. They’d fix this. Dutch would make sure of it. 

Arthur nodded, trusting him, his panicked grip on Dutch’s vest loosening. He took a shaky breath, still unable to hear it, but the dread was morphing to weariness. 

Dutch smiled softly, stood, and once again offered his hand. Arthur took it, stumbling slightly when he stood, letting himself be led to the horses Dutch had waiting. 

He moved to turn to his own horse, but Dutch held out a hand to stop him, pointing instead at The Count. Arthur almost started arguing, wondering if he’d win automatically seeing as he couldn't actually hear anything Dutch had to say.

But he was simply too tired to find out, and really, he hoped he’d never have to. It was almost a relief not to have to ride by himself. He was sure that he didn’t need his hearing to control his horse like normal, but again, he really didn’t want to have to find out. 

He followed Dutch to the awaiting white horse, trying not to shudder at the sensation of not hearing his own footsteps. 

His bruised ribs protested his every move, the throbbing of his head only getting worse, but he managed to mount without help, Dutch positioning himself in front of him. 

His shoulders were moving, talking on instinct, and even though Arthur had no way of knowing what he was saying, knowing that Dutch was there, that he was in control, helped Arthur to relax. 

In reality, Arthur knew that Dutch was probably just as panicked as he was. There was no way he could know Arthur was going to be ok, if they could even fix this, but he had to pretend. His acts tended to be convincing enough to fool anyone, even himself. And Arthur, needing something, anything to latch on to, decided to stop thinking and simply trust. 

He tried to stay awake. Really, he tried. Falling asleep on a horse was a good way to get killed, but he couldn't help it. Everything hurt, the pain growing steadily worse, and he found himself falling forward until he was almost leaning against Dutch’s back.  

And really, he didn’t want to spend another moment in this nightmare. He wanted to wake up when it was over, when he could hear the voices of his family. He wanted to hear the yelling, the bickering, the laughing and joking, even Micah’s insults would be welcome. He wanted to hear the trees sway and the gentle roar of the creek. He wanted to hear Dutch’s promises that everything would be fine. 

He almost made it all the way to camp. He could see the lantern light and smell the smoke from the campfire. But his world was fading to gray, the rest of his senses slowly being taken away, and Arthur struggled to keep his eyes open. 

He might’ve told Dutch. He wasn’t sure. At this point, it was impossible to discern his words from his own thoughts. The Count was slowing and Arthur let himself close his eyes. 

He had just enough time to wonder if anyone would be able to wake him up in the morning before everything went black once again. 

 

_ “Arthur?”  _

His own name, said so simply and quiet that Arthur wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not, woke him with a start, his eyes flying open as everything came rushing back. 

He shifted, freezing when he heard the creaking of his cot under the weight. Heart pounding, Arthur took a steady breath, a lump forming in his throat when he realized that he could actually hear it, the noise sounding oddly loud to his own ears. 

“Arthur?” Dutch’s voice sounded, quiet, apprehensive, and Arthur finally noticed him sitting at the end of the bed, watching with barely concealed worry. “Can...can you hear me, son?” 

Arthur nodded, the full weight of the relief crashing down on him, and he watched Dutch practically deflate. He fell against his chair, exhausted, a genuine smile spreading across his face. 

“Thank god,” he said. Arthur worked on sitting up, frowning at the tightly wound bandage around his torso. “You, uh, you feeling ok?” 

Arthur nodded again, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “Better now. What happened? How did...how’d you fix it?” 

“You’ll have to ask Hosea,” Dutch said. “I think it was temporary, but he and Miss Grimshaw were pretty worried. Everyone was. You were...your ears were bleeding. I don’t know how I didn’t notice when I found you.” 

Arthur scoffed, absently reaching a hand up to touch his ears, wincing when they felt sore and tender. But they were working like they were supposed to, and that’s all that mattered. 

“Sounds gross,” he said. “You want some free life advice? Don’t stand next to dynamite when it goes off.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The tent fell silent after that and Arthur, growing unreasonably antsy, quickly cleared his throat and looked back to dutch. 

“Is Lenny ok?” 

Dutch nodded. “Worried about you, but he’s fine. I sent him ahead when I heard the explosion and came back to find you. Damn O’driscolls.” 

“The woman?” Arthur asked, knowing the answer just by looking at Dutch’s expression. 

“One of them must have shot her when she was running,” he said. “You did everything you could, Arthur. We got paid, but it wasn’t worth that much bloodshed. I’m sorry.” 

Arthur shook his head. “Not your fault. Sometimes...sometimes things just go wrong. At least we’re still standing.” 

Dutch tilted his head, giving Arthur a long look, before reaching over and picking up his book off the floor, moving to stand. “I’ll let you rest.” 

“You can stay,” Arthur said, speaking before he could stop himself. “If you want. It just...It just seems pretty quiet out there, you know?” 

He felt stupid saying it, suddenly unable to meet Dutch’s gaze. He was fine, he could hear. That wasn’t changing anytime soon. The camp was never silent, he should be welcoming the rare isolation. 

But Dutch seemed to understand, easing back into his chair and opening the book in his lap. Arthur watched him a moment, shifting his gaze to the red book cover. He could hear Dutch’s breathing, could hear the wind and the birds outside, but somehow, it was still too quiet. 

“What’re you reading?” Arthur asked, suddenly desperate to fill the void. 

“A romance,” Dutch admitted, laughing to himself. “One of Mary-Beth’s, I asked her for something to read. It’s not bad so far.” 

“Oh.” Arthur shifted his gaze to the top of the tent, feeling like a needy child afraid of the dark. “Never read any of those.” 

And Dutch, always seeming to know exactly what Arthur needed, chuckled softly. Arthur listened as he turned the page, smiling when Dutch began to read the beginning aloud. 

Arthur wasn't even paying attention to the story, and Dutch knew it. He let his eyes drift shut, basking in the one noise that could always put him at ease. 


End file.
